


Just How?

by Lady_of_Lorule



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Acrobatics, Age Regression/De-Aging, Batbrothers (DCU), Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, De-Aged Dick Grayson, De-Aged Jason Todd, De-Aged Tim Drake, Family, Gen, Light Angst, Magic, Romani Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Lorule/pseuds/Lady_of_Lorule
Summary: A magic artifact de-age Dick, Jason, and Tim all down to thirteen years old, with no memories of being older, and now Bruce has four Robins to deal with.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Donna Troy, Dick Grayson & Wally West, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 40
Kudos: 966





	1. First Night

Four Robins stood in a circle in the Batcave, staring at each other in shock. Off to the side, Bruce and Alfred were standing as still as statues, a platter still clanging against the ground from where it had fallen from Alfred’s hands. Even the bats above were silent.

“I’m going to be the first to say that I have absolutely no clue what is going on, or who any of you are,” the boy in a bright yellow cape and green pixie boots said with a bright smile, a charming accent affecting his words. “Except for Alfred. Hi, Alfred!”

The butler could only stare in shock. Instead, it was Bruce who said, “You don’t recognize me, chum?”

The boy rocked forward on his feet like he couldn’t stand to be still. “Well, now I do. But in my defense, the whole cowl and shtick makes it hard to tell who’s under there. And I’m clearly not in my Batcave. Or maybe this is my Batcave, but in the future? Or an alternate Batcave? I have no clue, this kind of stuff makes my head hurt if I think about it too much.”

“This is _my_ Batcave,” the boy in a red tunic and bright green boots said; he was also the smallest of the lot. “I cannot speak for the rest of you.”

“Would someone please explain what just happened?” another boy in green pants with a staff in hand demanded, looking around a bit frantically. “I just left Spoiler in Crime Alley and I really need to get back to her.”

The final boy snorted, wearing a costume nearly identical to the first boy who’d spoken, except that his hair was parted differently, down the center rather than falling into his eyes. “You think that’s bad; Batman (my Batman) and I were about to bring down the Penguin. He’s going to kill me for disappearing on him.”

 _“Robin,”_ Batman snapped, and then took a step back as four heads turned towards him in unison. He reached out to steady himself as the four waited patiently for him, although judging from the small tics starting to emerge, they wouldn’t wait long.

He took a deep breath. “Okay. As far as I can tell at this time, Damian—” he pointed to his son because he realized that the others likely didn’t know who he was, “and I encountered a magic user earlier today. He hurled some artifact at Damian, but it didn’t strike him. We brought it back here for examination, and Damian accidentally touched it, which caused the three of you to appear.”

The first boy scratched his head. “I’m going to be honest, B, that really didn’t clear things up.”

“Father, we need to determine if this is time travel or some sort of age regression,” the shortest said, looking straight at Batman. The other three Robins looked at him curiously.

“Did you just call B your father?”

“Wait, are you actually his son?”

“Did you adopt another kid, Bruce?”

The short Robin aimed a sneer at the three of them. The first boy rolled his eyes, which was somehow obvious even with his mask firmly in place. “Jeez, lighten up, kid.”

“Don’t call me a kid, Grayson! We’re clearly the same age right now, anyways!”

He stumbled back on his bare legs. “What did you just call me?”

The boy in green pants looked over at him with dawning realization. “Grayson? Oh my gosh...is it really you, Dick?”

“How do you both know my name?!”

He wasn’t done though. His head swiveled over to the other Robin in green panties and he went pale. “Are you actually Jason?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell else would I be? Don’t tell me you’d mix me up with Dickiebird here, if it actually is him.”

“You know me too!?”

 _“Boys,”_ Bruce snapped again, but this time it had no effect. The four boys were scrutinizing each other, talking over each other, and generally starting to piece things together, except for Dick, who was hopelessly confused.

Alfred appeared at his shoulder, bearing silent witness to the Robins before murmuring to Bruce, “I sent out an emergency call to Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin. There was no response.”

He felt a headache coming. “Which means that these are them. That somehow that artifact de-aged the three of them and brought them here.”

“It does seem to be that way.”

The two men stared at the four boys for a moment, overtaken by memory. It was strange seeing the boys in the costumes that now hung in memorial, and even stranger seeing all of them together and the same age. They all appeared to be around thirteen, like Damian, and they appeared to only have memory from that time and now from the present. Which explained Dick’s befuddlement and Tim’s reticence. Dick hadn’t met another Robin yet, and Tim had probably only been Robin for a few months at this point.

“I would suggest you catch the boys up to speed while I make preparations for their stay, Master Bruce.”

He looked at his oldest friend in shock. “I can’t tell them their future, Alfred. The timeline—”

“Has not been broken. They weren’t actually brought forward in time, but simply made to forget. Still, I understand that you may not want to burden them with their future struggles, but they must be told some version of the truth. They are smart boys, and unless you satisfy their curiosity now, they’ll go behind your back and learn everything on their own.”

He sighed. “You’re right.”

“Go take care of your sons.”

The old butler headed off with that statement, leaving Bruce in the cave with his four teenage sons. Of all the many possible events Bruce had predicted and prepared for, this one didn’t even come close. He was entirely out of his depth, but he had to try. With a steadying breath, he walked over to his sons, putting a gentle hand on Dick and Damian’s shoulders. His blood son tugged away, but Dick melted into the touch like a cat, and Bruce was suddenly struck with dozens of memories of long ago, and the frightening realization that he could break Dick’s slim shoulder just by squeezing too hard. He’d forgotten how small he’d been at this age.

“I am going to explain as much as I can now,” Bruce said, forcing his mind back to the present. His sons all paused and looked at him, their eyes heavy with expectation. “Alfred just determined that this is not time travel. Rather, your older selves have been de-aged and appeared here. All of you except for Damian are not actually this age.”

Tim comprehended it first. “So how old are we supposed to be?”

“Dick is supposed to be twenty-two, Jason is nineteen, and Tim, you’re supposed to be seventeen.”

Their eyes all widened comically, and Damian’s scowl deepened. Bruce didn’t fail to notice that it was directed at Dick. Oh no. That was going to be a problem.

“I’ll start working right away on fixing this, I promise.”

“I don’t care about that!” Dick yelled suddenly, causing Tim and Damian to jump, but Jason just sighed, looking up at the ceiling as if asking for patience. “I want to know who all these people are and why you called them Robin!”

And then his son, who he had been counting on to be the level-headed one, was pulling out of his grip and staring at him with undisguised fury and betrayal.

“Wow, I can’t believe I’m going to have to watch this fight twice in two weeks,” Jason murmured and Bruce flinched.

He really had not accounted for how awful those missing memories would make things.

“Dick, please let me explain—”

“No! I thought this was some weird alternate dimension stuff and these were just other Robins, but now you’re telling me that these kids come after me. That they steal _my_ nickname and _my_ family colors!”

“Dickie. I know that you may not believe me when I tell you this, but it’s true: when you grow up, you decide to make a new identity for yourself, away from me. You let Jason, and then eventually Tim and Damian, take up your mantle. They didn’t steal anything, and if you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me.”

The boy fell silent, still glaring at Bruce. Damian was staring at him with undisguised shock, whereas Jason had turned away from the group, his head tilted down, like he could block out the argument. Bruce sighed, and turned his attention back to the group.

“Damian, please go help Alfred upstairs.”

“But, Father—”

“Damian.”

His youngest (technically) huffed, but did as he was told, taking the lift out of the cave. That left Bruce with his three oldest, who were now missing years of their memory.

“Dick, what year was it that you last remember it being?”

For a second, he thought the boy might not answer and he’d have to do the math himself, but then Dick said tersely, “2011.”

“It is now 2020.” He gave them a moment to digest that information, then continued. “Dick, when you turn eighteen, Jason becomes Robin, and you take on the identity of Nightwing. You move to Titans Tower and lead them. Now you live in Bludhaven. You were Batman for a while, while I was...indisposed.”

He turned to Jason, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “Jaylad, there’s no easy way to say this, but I want to be the one to tell you, instead of you stumbling across it on your own. You die. When you’re fifteen you are killed, but you come back to life. We don’t understand how. You go by the code name Red Hood now, and you live in an apartment in Gotham.”

He stared up at Bruce with pained eyes. “I die? How do I die? How am I alive?”

Bruce reached out and brushed his neat hair, the way he had wanted to every day since he cradled his son’s body in the ashes of that warehouse, but his Jason, the Red Hood, would never have permitted that. Maybe it was selfish to do it now, when this was really older Jason, not the kid he appeared to be, but he couldn’t not comfort his son.

“It's a long and painful story, Jay. I promise I’ll tell you if you really want, but it won’t make you any happier. I just don’t think I can keep that from you, especially because—” he looked over at Tim, who was trying to make himself smaller, inconspicuous, “Timmy already knows. So do Damian and Alfred. Tim becomes Robin after you die. Tim, you go by Red Robin now, and you live in Gotham as well. You actually run Wayne Enterprises for me.”

Tim’s mouth fell open. “No way.”

“I swear, I’m telling the truth.”

“That is— that is a lot. This is all a lot.” Tim pointed at Dick. “You’re like a big brother to me. I am freaking out at seeing you my age. Like a lot. And you,” he said, this time directed at Jason, “I don’t even know what to say. You’re like seeing a ghost.”

“What about the fourth Robin?” Dick interrupted, sparing Jason from having to respond to the ghost comment. “Damian? How does he fit into this?”

“Damian...is my blood son. His mother is Talia al Ghul,” Bruce admitted, then scowled as all three of them looked at him judgmentally.

“I warned you so many times not to mess with her, B. So many times.”

He chose to ignore that, though a part of him was glad to hear Dick’s criticism over his hurt silence. “Dickie, you were the one who made Damian your Robin when you became Batman. He already knows all three of you, so don’t be surprised if he treats you oddly. He may be a stranger to all of you, but you’re not strangers to him.”

Tim and Jason nodded, both looking preoccupied and Bruce didn’t blame them. Dick however, realized that that was the end of the storytelling portion of the evening and sauntered away. Bruce only watched as his oldest (?) found his way to the gymnastics equipment that had been there since Dick’s first day as Robin, and threw himself into a familiar workout. The Grayson's trapeze routine, which Dick still had memorized to heart. He knew from experience that it was best to let Dick be when he was this angry.

“I need to make some calls,” Bruce said, trying to keep his reluctance out of his voice. “To try to figure this out.”

His sons both nodded, although it didn’t seem like they’d actually heard him. That was the best he was going to get, though, so he made his way over to the Batcomputer. He needed to run an analysis on the artifact and then contact Zatanna, and maybe a few other magic users, although he didn’t trust any of them much. It was a unique situation, though, so he could put aside his paranoia for his sons’ sake.

That left the second and third Robin together in the vast cave that wasn’t quite what either of them remembered. Jason was the first one to break the silence.

“So, you’re my replacement,” he said, sharp blue eyes cutting into the other boy.

“What?! No! I mean...I only became Robin because you couldn’t, and Batman needed a Robin. I wasn’t trying to replace you, I swear—”

“Calm down. I just figured—” his eyes darted over to the small figure soaring through the air in the distance, “well, I replaced Dick. But he was still alive. I guess I can’t be replaced if I was dead, just...succeeded.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Tim edged a bit closer, like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. “Are you...are you okay?” He flushed. “Sorry. That’s probably a stupid question. I mean, I don’t know how I would handle being told that I’m going to die. Though I guess it’s not permanent? I didn’t know about that.”

“Wait, you’ve never met me? You don’t know me as...Red Hood? Why the hell is my code name so stupid?”

Tim shook his head. “No, uh, you’re dead in my time. Its only been a few months. I guess you’re not alive again, yet? Or I just haven’t met older you? Wow, this is weird.”

Jason nodded fervently. “No shit.”

“But...I’m really glad that I get to meet you? I only became Robin because of you, and I didn’t think I’d ever get to tell you that. So...yeah.”

Tim fell silent and looked away. He had just gone full on fanboy on Jason Todd, his idol, like an idiot. If only the ground would just swallow him up and save him from this embarrassment.

Jason, however, was looking at the third Robin in a new light. He swung an arm over Tim’s shoulder, holding steady even when the smaller boy jumped.

“You’re a pretty good replacement, Replacement.” He cut Tim off before he could object. “Nope, that’s what I’m calling you, but we’re cool. C’mon. Let’s go see if we can steal any of Alfie’s cookies. After this whole mess we deserve it.”

A tentative smile appeared on Tim’s face. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

* * *

“Grayson.” No response. The boy caught the next bar and flipped himself over, holding a handstand effortlessly. “Grayson! Get down here. Pennyworth has tasked me with bringing you to dinner.” He tipped his momentum forward and flipped over again and again.

Damian scowled. This pathetic excuse for Grayson was sinking so low as to ignore him, like a sulking child. _His_ Grayson would never be so petty. He didn’t even look like Richard. He was far too short and his hair was different and he was wearing _green underwear._ It was disgraceful. As far as Damian was concerned, this wasn’t really Richard. It couldn’t be, just like the Todd and Drake children were just magical constructs. They would all be gone soon enough, and Damian could have Richard back. The _real_ Richard.

“Grayson.”

“Leave me alone!” the boy finally snapped. He had a European accent, a blend of multiple dialects and languages that Damian was unused to hearing in his brother’s voice. He jumped onto the rings and easily inverted himself in a motion Damian had seen Richard do a thousand times. “I’m not hungry.”

“Pennyworth insists. Trust me, I wouldn’t bother otherwise.”

He saw the hesitation that overcame Grayson. The threat of Alfred’s displeasure was enough to cow even the mighty Batman; this little Robin would have no chance. And true to his prediction, Damian watched with satisfaction as Grayson released the rings, flipping twice because landing on his feet like a cat.

“Let’s go,” Damian ordered.

Then Grayson looked at him with eyes that were so _hurt,_ so _vulnerable,_ and asked, “I made you Robin? When I was Batman?”

Damian paused at the edge of the mats below the gym equipment, the air sucked out of him like he’d been punched in the stomach. Grayson really didn’t remember Damian, or being Batman, or any of it. And when he peeked at the boy’s face, to confirm it, he was met with a disbelief in Grayson’s eyes, like he couldn’t imagine that something like that would ever happen.

“We were the best.” The words slipped out unintentionally, but they rang true.

Grayson bounced on his toes, eyes flicking everywhere, looking at everything except Damian. “I always knew I’d be Batman. But it always felt so far off. Now B is saying that I’ll be Batman in less than nine years, and also...Nightwing? And I can tell you know me, that you know older me really well, but I don’t know you. I don’t know who those other Robins are either, and I don’t recognize this place. It’s changed so much. And now I don’t want to go upstairs and see how much older Alfred looks, or the gray in Bruce’s hair, or what else has changed about my home.”

Damian felt frozen. Richard never talked to him, not like this. Damian brought his problems to Richard, who helped him with them. Never the other way around. Richard had also silently borne all his burdens, hiding anything real behind a smile and a wisecrack. It had taken Damian a (terribly) long time to realize that Richard was so much more complex than he ever let on. But this little Grayson wore his heart on his sleeve, and he was confiding in Damian, who he’d just admitted to being a perfect stranger (which didn’t hurt. It didn’t).

“The Batcave has been updated a lot over the years. Father must always have the best tech,” Damian offered. It sounded awkward to his own ears, but Grayson was listening, so he kept going. “But from what Pennyworth has told me, the Manor has changed very little since Father was a child.” He suddenly remembered that Alfred had also given him another task. He walked over to the changing rooms and Dick followed. “Here. Pennyworth sent me with some clothes for you, since your uniform is hopelessly outdated.”

“What? What’s wrong with my uniform?” Grayson asked, peeling off his domino mask.

“You do realize you’re wearing green underpants, right?”

“Yeah. It makes it easier to do acrobatics. If I was wearing as much body armor as your uniform has, I wouldn’t be able to move. Seriously, didn’t older me teach you acrobatics?”

He had, but that just reminded Damian that his Richard was gone, so he ignored the question. “It’s stupid. You’re exposing yourself to pointless and avoidable injury. And the colors are so bright. Terrible for stealth.”

“Batman does stealth. I do distraction.”

Damian’s lips curled. He would need to talk to his father about using young boys as cannon fodder. It was a miracle that Grayson survived to adulthood if that had been their whole battle strategy.

“Well, here. Put these on,” Damian instructed, tossing the bundle Pennyworth had given him over to the boy as they stepped into the changing rooms. He headed straight to his locker to change, too, but a moment later he realized that Grayson wasn’t changing.

He sighed and turned, preparing to berate him, and then stopped. Grayson had dropped the bundle and was staring at the suit hanging on the wall. His Nightwing suit. Well, his future suit.

With a trembling hand, Grayson reached out and ran his fingers over the splash of blue on the chest plate, tracing the sloping lines with a reverence in his eyes.

“That is yours,” Damian said quietly. The boy didn’t look away from the suit. “Your Nightwing costume. You designed it yourself.”

“It looks heavy.”

“Its not. You spent weeks researching the lightest body armors you could. Your costume isn’t quite as durable as the Batsuit, but you told me you preferred the maneuverability your suit offered.”

“And no cape.”

“No. You told me that capes mess up your balance.”

Grayson cocked his head. “Bruce was the one who made me wear this cape. For extra protection. I fought him on it, but lost.”

Damian knew this, as Richard had told him the story more than once. He didn’t say that though.

“Change already. Before Pennyworth comes to scold us.”

Grayson let his hand drop and gathered up the bundle. Damian was quick in getting out of his own costume, switching it out for jeans and a long-sleeve black shirt. When he looked over, he blinked at the boy standing before him.

Grayson looked...different, outside of his costume. More normal, maybe. Damian couldn’t quite pinpoint what was giving him pause. Grayson’s hair fell in tangled curls across his forehead, over his (familiar) bright blue eyes. There were a light dusting of freckles on his nose that had been hidden by his mask, and there was a chip in his tooth that Damian didn’t recognize. He must have gotten it fixed when he was older. And his body...sure Richard had never quite gained as much body mass as Father or Todd, but he had been tall and extremely fit, strong and lithe. This boy was skinny as a twig, all long limbs and fluttering movements. The Haly’s Circus hoodie he was wearing hung around his wrists loosely, making him appear even smaller.

It really struck Damian then that this Grayson was his age. Thirteen. A child, really.

“Damian?” Grayson asked, and he scowled rather than admit his lapse in attention. “Are you ready?”

“Tt. About time.”

He stormed out of the changing room, heading towards the elevators. He expected Grayson to fall behind, but to his surprise, the boy easily caught up and then kept pace with him. He ignored they way they both adjusted automatically to move in sync, weaving through the Batcave without ever so much as brushing.

It wasn’t his Grayson. It wasn’t.

That didn’t mean that he didn’t care about this young Grayson though. Damian had accepted that no matter what mask he wore, or where he lived, or what team he was on, or even what age he was, he simply cared about Richard Grayson.

(He still wanted his back though.)

* * *

“This is weird,” Tim mumbled as Alfred dished out food in front of the four Robins.

Jason didn’t seem to agree. He politely thanked Alfred and then tore into his food with his usual hunger, but was careful to use a napkin and utensils. Damian stared at him in open shock for so long that Jason looked up from his food, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I didn’t know you had manners, Todd.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason snapped, shoulders rising in warning. He may not have understood the comment, but he did know that it was less than complimentary.

“Master Damian,” Alfred admonished. “Kindly refrain from insults at the dinner table. Master Jason is thirteen. Do not attack him with grudges you have with his future self.”

“Tt.”

Alfred gave him a warning look, then left the room to fetch their drinks. The dining room was thrumming with a strange tension as each of the Robins reacted to their strange situation. Tim couldn’t stop staring at his two predecessors, while Dick was actively avoiding looking at anything except for the cuffs of his hoodie. Jason and Damian were now in a tense stare-off.

“What’s your problem?” Jason said, using a fork to point at the fourth Robin. “Do we not get along in the future or something?”

“We are amiable...now.”

“Okay, then. Any other grudges you have against us that we should know about, because none of us know you.”

Damian flinched subtly, but they’d all been trained to spot that. “No. We are all at a truce right now.”

“Truce, huh? So we’re all not best bros in the future?” Jason tried to say it like a joke, but they could all tell that the thought made him a little sad and a little nervous.

“You and Drake get along well, from what I understand. Grayson gets along with everyone, but he’s not around a lot.”

Dick’s head snapped up. “So where I am?”

“Depends. Sometimes you’re in Bludhaven, sometimes you leave the country and don’t tell anyone where you’re going, sometimes you’re with your Titans.”

“Oh.”

“Should we be worried that people are missing our older selves?” Tim asked, eyes darting around. “I mean, are we going to be missing school or work, or will our teams need to know where we are? Bruce said I’m a Teen Titan.”

Damian waved a hand. “Father will take care of it.”

“But what are we missing?”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, Drake, you’re a high school drop out, so you don’t need to worry about school, and Father can cover for you at Wayne Enterprises. Your team can survive a few days without you. Grayson only does volunteer work at a youth center, so I doubt he’ll be missed terribly. And Todd...I honestly have no clue if you have a job or something. You do have a group of imbeciles you travel with, but they’re probably used to your disappearance. It happens often in our profession.”

Tim nodded, but now his brow was scrunched together. Dick, likewise, had gone back to staring at his shirt, whereas Jason just sighed heavily and then returned to his food. He figured he should get some food down before some other magic-weirdness happened.

Alfred returned and set drinks in front of each of the boys. More quiet thank yous ensued and Alfred nodded. He started to exit the room, intent on summoning Bruce before he spent all night neglecting to eat or attend to his four young sons. However, he paused in the doorway when he realized that one boy had stayed silent, and had yet to touch the lasagna in front of him.

“Master Dick, are you feeling under the weather?”

All heads turned towards the first Robin, who flinched. He tugged at his sleeve roughly and said, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not eating.”

“‘M not hungry.”

Alfred trained the boy with a hard look. “Master Dick, you _will_ eat your dinner. The subject is not up for debate.”

The boy didn’t move. The other three boys looked at him a bit anxiously, but they kept quiet. Alfred sighed. If his memory served him right, Dick as a child had been impossible to reason with. Acknowledging that this battle of wills would have to wait, Alfred left the room. Perhaps Master Bruce would have more luck with the boy.

* * *

Bruce was successfully dragged to surface for some food. Damian had slipped away, but he wasn’t the one Bruce was most worried about at the moment, so he let it slide. Dick still hadn’t eaten, even when Bruce pressed, but the boy was insisting that he was fine so he also let that slide. For now. He knew that Dick usually stopped eating when he was overwhelmed, with work or stress or grief. This situation could certainly elicit such a reaction. Tomorrow morning, though, Bruce would make sure he ate.

“Okay. I know that you all probably still have a million questions, but its nearly two am, so you’re all going to bed. We can talk more in the morning.”

“Bruce—!”

“Aw, c’mon—”

He held up a hand. “Tomorrow. We all need sleep.”

Jason snorted and whispered in Tim’s ear, “Twenty bucks that he goes right back down to the Batcave.”

He fixed his son with a glare, but when Jason turned an innocent smile on him he melted. He couldn’t help it, even if looking at Jason’s young, innocent face hurt as much as it made him happy. This was the best kind of torture.

“All of you, bed. Now.”

With varying degrees of grumbling, they ascended the stairs. Tim’s room was first, and he stepped inside easily, looking around. Except for being a little messier than he remembered, nothing major had changed. He looked at Bruce inquiringly.

“You also have an apartment in the city, to be closer to your job,” he explained, leaning in the doorway. “Most of your stuff goes there. I’m guessing this place doesn’t look too different?”

“Just a few things. A few more books, different laptop…” he listed, trailing off. His eyes flicked up to Bruce, then back down. “I think I’m going to sleep now. I’m too tired to even try to get anything out of you.”

Bruce felt his lips twitch. “Okay. Goodnight, Tim.”

He closed the door behind him. Jason had already entered his room and shut the door, which was a bit worrying, but when he was young, Jason had had a habit of seeking him out in the middle of the night if something was bothering him. Bruce had a feeling he’d be getting an addition in his bed tonight, so he turned his attention to his oldest. Dick was hovering in the doorway of his room, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Chum? Is something wrong?” Bruce asked, moving closer, but not touching. He knew Dick was still mad about the other Robins. He may get over it, and he may not. He certainly hadn’t when Bruce had made Jason Robin, not for a long while.

“It’s all different,” the boy whispered, breath hitching a little. He murmured something in Romani and Bruce had to hold in his surprise. He hadn’t heard Dick use his first language in years, just like his accent had faded.

Bruce moved forward and peered into the room. The problem was obvious. Unlike with Jason and Tim, whose rooms were relatively the same since they didn’t stay at home often, Dick’s room had changed a _lot._ His clothes, now multiple sizes too big, were scattered around the room, there were pictures all over the walls, and stacks of books, CDs, DVDs, and other paraphernalia on his shelves and desk. Everything down to the bedspread was different.

“I know it looks different. If you don’t want to stay here, you can stay with me, or use one of the guest rooms. I know that this is—”

“No,” Dick cut him off, straightening up and releasing his death grip on the knob. “It’s fine. I’ll stay here. But could you— do you think you could stay with me, just for a bit? Please?”

He reached out and brushed back his bangs, the motion so familiar despite the years since the last time he’d done it. “Of course, chum. Come on.”

They walked into the room together. Bruce headed for the bed and settled down, resting his back against the headrest. He hadn’t been in here since Dick got a concussion a few months ago. His little Dick, however, started flitting around the room, moving in that odd, bird-like way that he still slipped into sometimes when he was older when he got anxious or excited. 

He watched as Dick first cased the room, like it was a crime scene and not his future bedroom. He peeked in all the corners, marked anything mentally that was not how he remembered it, and kept moving, feet light and quick. He checked the names of all the various books and movies, although many of them probably meant nothing to him. He picked up some of the clothes, holding it up against his body and wrinkling his nose.

“Am I really going to get this big?” he asked, and Bruce couldn’t help but smile a little at how adorable he was.

“Yes. Check over there if you don’t believe me,” he said, gesturing at the solid wall of pictures to his right.

The boy crept over to them, standing a few feet away, fingers twitching, and examined them all. His eyes moved quickly. He pointed to one and said, “That one. Is that, um...is that a picture of you adopting me?”

Bruce moved to sit on the edge of the bed, closer to his son and the pictures. He swept his eyes over the one he’d indicated, and yes. It showed him, Dick, Tim, and Alfred on the steps of the courthouse, just a few years ago.

“Yes. About three and half years ago, you agreed to let me adopt you. Is that okay?”

“I, uh...I don’t know.”

He remembered how adamant Dick had been about Bruce not replacing his father. He supposed that was the best answer he could expect.

Dick moved onto the next photo and froze. “Is that me?”

Bruce peered at the picture in question. It was a larger, full body shot of Dick with one arm over Donna’s shoulders, and the other over Wally’s. Roy was off to the side, getting a piggyback on Garth. Bruce didn’t recognize it, which meant that it was recent, within the last few months.

“Yeah, chum. You’re still very close with all of your Titan friends.”

“I look like my dad,” he said quietly, fingers brushing over the image, before withdrawing. He turned his head away, as if it was painful to look at. 

The next picture he looked at was one of him, Tim, Jason, and Damian. They were all in the backyard, spending a rare day together without a case or a megalomaniac forcing them to. Dick had on sunglasses and was giving Damian bunny ears, making the youngest scowl. Tim was tucked under Dick’s other arms, and Jason was taking a drag of a cigarette, his head turned to the side.

“This is us. Tim, Jason, and Damian.”

“Yeah.”

“Damian made it sound like we didn’t all get along well.”

“Damian...has troubles communicating what he really thinks. Especially when he’s upset.”

“He wasn’t upset.”

“Trust me, he was. He’s just good at hiding it. And it’s true that you all fight with each other, but you’re brothers. I’ve seen how much you all love and trust each other.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. The pattern continued like that, Dick pointing out pictures and Bruce filling in the blanks, until the sun was starting to simmer on the horizon. Then Dick climbed onto the bed, curling into Bruce’s side and going to sleep.


	2. First Day

“Oh,” Jason said, coming to a stop in the doorway of the library. “Sorry. I didn’t think anyone else would be up this early.”

Damian closed his book and arched an eyebrow at the intruder. “Todd. I didn’t think I’d see you in the library.”

“What’s that mean? I’m always in here.”

The fourth Robin slid off his chair. “Whatever. I’ll go now.”

“You don’t have to.”

Damian paused, turning his head. “Excuse me?”

Jason gestured at the large, empty library. “Well, I think this room is big enough for the both of us. You can stay. I was just going to read a book til breakfast. We don’t even have to talk or anything.” He tilted his head. “What were you doing in here, anyways? This early, I mean.”

Damian frowned, and Jason prepared himself for another barbed comment, but instead a book was handed to him. Confused, he accepted it, then realized it was a sketchbook. He peeked up at Damian to make sure it was okay, then opened the book when he was given an impatient gesture.

“Wow,” he murmured, looking down at a lovingly rendered image of a Great Dane. He flipped the pages to see more astounding sketches. “These are really good, Damian. Only one mistakes.”

The boy’s shoulders went stiff, hovering around his ears. “What?” he snapped.

Jason flipped the sketchbook around to show Damian an amazing drawing of Batman jumping off a rooftop, free falling, his hand not even inching towards his grapnel. “You drew Batman smiling.”

Damian snatched the sketchbook away as Jason laughed, holding his stomach. Damian smoothed out the page, his fingers trailing over that bright smile as he waited for the other boy to stop. It took a minute.

“Hey, I was just trying to lighten the mood, I didn’t mean to make you mad—”

“It’s not Father.”

Jason blinked. “Huh?”

“It’s not Father. This is a drawing of Grayson.”

Jason frowned. “Oh.” No longer interested in continuing the conversation, he stepped into the library, veering towards the classics section.

“What’s your problem with Grayson?”

He froze mid-step. “Nothing. I just don’t worship him like you do.”

“Please. I was trained by the League of Assassins and Batman. You’ll have to lie more convincingly than that.”

His temper flared and he whirled around, using his slight height advantage to loom over the boy. “Look, I get it, he was your Batman, and your perfect big brother and you look up to him, and you’re mad that you’re stuck with kid-Dick. Whatever. I have my own problems with Goldie.”

“Like what?” Damian challenged, not intimidated in the least.

“None of your business!”

“Actually, let me guess: he wasn’t happy that you took Robin from him, and he hates you, and you want his approval anyways, and that makes you mad, so you lash out at him because its easier than admitting that you want to be close to him.”

“Shut up!”

“No! I’m not making fun of you, Todd, I’m telling you that I feel the same way with Drake!”

Jason froze. Stepped back. Blinked. And then so eloquently said, “What?”

Damian rolled his eyes, looking away. “Grayson made me Robin while Drake was still Robin. I stole it from him, and I was not nice about it. I tried to kill him.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Jason choked. Damian sneered. “You tried to kill him, too.”

“What?!”

“To be fair, you weren’t entirely yourself. But I digress; the point is, I know how you feel about Grayson, and I also know that Grayson doesn’t know why you don’t like him right now. He doesn’t even know you. So be mad at your Grayson all you want, but don’t take it out on this Grayson. He hasn’t done anything to deserve it.”

Jason didn’t say anything, and neither boy tried to make eye contact. It felt like a fragile spiderweb was tying them together, this one instance of perfect alignment, and the slightest move would tear it. Jason’s heart was pounding, his mind struggling to reconcile all the emotions swirling in his heart with the piercing words that laid him bare. Damian just seemed embarrassed to admitting that he had emotions.

“Okay,” the second Robin said, shifting on his feet. “I’ll leave this Dick out of it. You’re right; it isn’t fair to him.”

“Good.”

“Great. So...I’m still going to go read. But you could stay? And keep drawing? I, uh...I wouldn’t mind seeing more of your work. You really are a good artist. I meant that.”

Damian considered it, then nodded sharply. “I will stay. It’s not long til Pennyworth summons us for breakfast anyways.”

Jason smiled. “Cool.”

* * *

“Oh,” Bruce said, trying to mask his surprise as Damian and Jason entered the dining room together. “I thought I’d have to come find you two.”

“No way I’m missing Alfie’s pancakes,” Jason declared, dropping into a chair next to Tim as Alfred set down a loaded plate in front of him. “It looks great, like always, Alf.”

“Eat up before it gets cold,” the butler prompted, but Bruce caught the slight curl to his lips. However, his typical stern demeanor was back as he turned to Dick and instructed, “That goes double for you, Master Richard.”

The acrobat made a face. “I’m not hungry.”

“Be that as it may, you must eat. I allowed you to skip your meal last night, but that it as far as my lenience will stretch.”

Alfred grabbed Bruce’s empty mug of coffee and strode out of the room. Dick sighed and slouched in his chair like a deflated balloon. His eyes lingered on the pile of pancakes before him with disgust.

“If he doesn’t want them, I’ll eat it,” Jason volunteered, one pancake already gone and another well on it’s way.

Bruce ruffled Jason’s hair. “Finish your own.” Then he turned towards Dick and dropped his voice, as if his other children couldn’t still hear him and read lips. “Dick, please try to eat.”

“I’m _really_ not hungry.”

“Cereal?”

Bruce had never understood his son’s obsession with the sugariest, unhealthiest cereals possible, but it was his favorite food. Alfred, of course, banned the ‘loathsome substance’ from the Manor, but Bruce always made sure there was at least one box of the stuff hidden away for emergencies. When Dick stayed over because of a particularly bad injury or from getting fear gassed or just a really shitty week, Bruce would break out that box.

Which was way his stomach twisted unpleasantly when Dick shook his head, even the promise of his favorite meal not enough to get him to eat.

“Chum, you have to eat something.”

“Maybe later.”

Which really meant never. Bruce vividly remembered the first few weeks of Dick’s stay in the Manor. He had seemed so fine most of the time, impossibly fine, when you considered that he’d recently seen his parents murdered in front of him, but then meal time came. And he just...didn’t eat. No matter how delicious and sumptuous the meal, nothing could convince him. Bruce had ended up having to consult with Leslie, and even once they got him eating again, unless he was forced to sit down at the table and have Bruce monitor his every bite, he wouldn’t eat a thing.

Bruce _really_ didn’t want a repeat of that.

“Dick, if you don’t eat, then you can’t come on patrol.”

He flew to his feet, eyes wide, and yelled, “What?!”

“You heard me.”

“Father, you can’t be implying that you would let Grayson patrol in this state at all,” Damian complained, gripping his fork tightly.

Dick whirled on the fourth Robin, hands on his hips. “Just what does that mean?”

“That you’re not fit to be patrolling right now. You are nine years in the future and think that underpants are an acceptable uniform for fighting criminals!”

“Buddy, I can handle myself just fine without all of your fancy body armor. I’ve been Robin for four years.”

Damian sneered. “I’ve been training my entire life. You wouldn’t stand a chance against me. You’d only be a liability on patrol and I won’t let you endanger anyone with your incompetence.”

“Damian, that’s enough,” Bruce commanded, quietly but powerfully.

“Tt.”

Dick suddenly tore into his pancakes with a vigor and his family all paused to stare at him for a moment. Damian was the first to break the silence, his tone bewildered.

“What are you doing?”

“Eating.”

“Why?”

“Because B won’t let me spar if I don’t. And I plan on proving you wrong.”

“Fine. Challenge accepted.”

Bruce felt like he should have done something to stop this, but it seemed to be too late already. Damian had that stubborn look on his face, the one that Dick had told him he inherited from Bruce; there would be no stopping his son now. And Dick was eating. So maybe this fight would be a good thing?

He sighed. Why couldn’t he have normal children who didn’t get magically de-aged and challenge each other to sparring matches for the honor of being a costumed vigilante?

* * *

“You’re really letting them do this?” Jason asked, kicking his dangling feet as he sat on the hood of the Batmobile.

“It will be a good training exercise for the both of them,” Bruce replied.

“Alfie’s going to be pissed if they beat each other up.”

“They’ll be careful.”

He chose not to acknowledge the disbelieving look his son shot him. Instead he watched as Damian and Dick both wrapped their knuckles with precision, stretching in preparation for their match. Damian looked annoyed, but Dick looked determined. Bruce peeked over at Tim, who was sitting on his motorcycle next to the Batmobile, as both vehicles offered an excellent view of the sparring ring. His middle children looked content enough with their seats, so Bruce sighed and made his way down to the ring.

“Ready?” Dick asked, unfolding from a complicated pretzel.

“You may still back out of this, Grayson,” Damian warned in response.

“Boys,” Bruce said, crossing his arms as his two sons peeked up at him. “Play nice.”

“I will if he will,” Dick said, mimicking his posture.

“Dick.”

“What?”

Before Bruce could attempt to get through his son’s thick head, the acrobat whirled on the assassin. They both fell into a ready position without having to verbalize the start, and Bruce backed up. Their fight had begun.

Damian, with his usual impatience, went to throw the first punch. Dick leaned out of the way, doing a back handspring to avoid the follow up kick. Damian’s lip curled in disgust and he swung again, but Dick laughed as he bounded away.

“You can’t even touch me!” Dick taunted, dropping to the floor to sweep Damian’s legs, but he jumped to avoid it.

“Shut up and fight!”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

The tone of their fight shifted drastically; Bruce quickly realized that Dick had been playing with Damian, riling him up, and now he was sending him over the tipping point. Damian, normally so deadly calm and focused, was distracted, falling prey to the ostentatious nature of Dick’s fighting style. That’s why Dick was able to land a solid punch in his stomach, followed by a swift jab to his jaw. Damian took less than a second to recover, but it was too late. Dick had bounced out of his reach again.

 _“He’d fly through the air with the greatest of ease; that daring young man on the flying trapeze,”_ Dick sang, landing a kick on Damian’s side.

“Stop singing!”

_“His movements were graceful, all the girls he did please—”_

Damian gave a wordless roar, and this time even Dick wasn’t quick enough to avoid the punch, although he did turn so that the punch lost most of its brute force. After that, the fight became a little more fair, although it was clear that Dick was landing more hits. Despite the more frequent blows landing on him, Dick didn’t stop singing once, and every verse only served to annoy Damian more.

_“And my love he has stolen away.”_

And with that line, Dick managed to slip under Damian’s guard, striking a swift uppercut that landed the newest Robin on his back, the breath knocked out of him. Dick was quick to straddle him in a perfect replication of a hold Batman had taught him, that was impossible to get out of without severely injuring both parties. Which Damian knew, so he scowled and tapped out.

“I yield,” he growled.

Dick laughed, bright and clear, and hopped off him. “You fight like Bruce.”

“Are you complimenting me?”

“Well, sure. Except I meant that you fight like a grown man; all muscle and power. But you’re a kid. You’re small and quick and flexible, except you don’t use that to your advantage.”

“You mean like you.”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a good fighter. I can see why I made you my Robin; but I think you could be even better.”

“Don’t push your luck, Grayson.” Damian rolled to his feet and stalked away. He paused at the changing room and called over his shoulder, “You may patrol with my father tonight.”

Dick bounced over to Bruce, leaning in to whisper confidentially, “I think he’s starting to like me.”

Bruce couldn’t help but grin back. “I think you might be right. Do you think you could _not_ antagonize him into a fight next time, though? Alfred will murder me if he knows that I let this happen.”

The retort got cut off as the Batcomputer chimed, signaling an incoming message. The three Robins and Bruce made their way over on instinct. Jason and Dick hung back, each popping up onto nearby rails to eavesdrop, but Tim crept closer, his eyes wide as he took in the setup. Even in the four years since Tim last remembered the cave, the technology had gone through a massive upgrade.

“I’ll show you all the new toys after the call,” Bruce promised, startling Tim, who jumped back like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Oh! Um, yeah, that would be really cool,” he rambled, rubbing his flushed neck. Before he could calm him down the boy retreated over to Dick, who looked surprised, but didn’t comment when Tim sat next to him, their shoulders brushing. Even now Tim was seeking out his big brother’s comfort.

Bruce forced his attention (reluctantly) away from his adorable sons to the largest monitor. He hit a button and then Zatanna’s face popped up. She smirked at the vigilante.

“Hey, Batman.”

“Zatanna.”

“Got your message from last night,” she said, not at all put off by his laconic response. “The magic artifact you, or rather Damian, encountered is one I’ve actually been searching for for months now. You’re lucky that whatever idiot had it didn’t know how to use it probably, or else your boys could’ve been erased from existence entirely.”

That was not a comforting thought, but he didn’t dwell on it. “Are the effects permanent or can you undo it?”

“Not permanent, but I can’t undo them either. Artifacts can be tricky. But, based on the effects, I can estimate that the spell will wear off naturally in about two to three more days.”

Well, that was some good news, mostly. “What then? Will they remember this? Will they reappear wherever they appeared from?”

“Sorry to say that I don’t know. We’ll just have to wait and see.” He grunted, and the magician raised an eyebrow. “There’s that enthusiasm we all know and love. Anyways, you’ll be happy to hear I’ll take over care of this artifact so nothing like this happens again.”

“Good.”

She waved a hand. “Of course.” Suddenly she smiled at him and he knew that he wasn’t going to like what came next. “Can I see your boys? Are they there?”

“No— Dick!”

“Hi, Zatanna!” the first Robin said, hopping up onto the arm of the chair like Bruce wasn’t even there, beaming and waving at the sorceress.

“Hi, Dick! Oh my gosh, you’re so small. B, please tell me you’re getting pictures of him like this.”

“Goodbye, Zatanna. I’ll be in touch if there are any complications,” he said firmly, ending the call before she could complain. Dick laughed and jumped off the chair.

“Geez, B, you should be nicer to your friends.”

“Hrn. Can you go tell Alfred what Zatanna said?”

“I’ll go,” Jason volunteered, popping off the railing.

Bruce blinked. It had been a long time since Jason did a favor for him without an ulterior motive. He had to remind himself again that this was a young Jason, one who hadn’t been through the brutal trials and torture that his older Jason had.

“Thank you, Jaylad.”

“It’s not a big deal.” The boy blushes at the gratitude and then flees upstairs. Bruce made a mental note to track him down later; he’d probably be in the library if he remembered Jason’s former habits. In a way, Jason had been the easiest boy he’d raised. Unlike Dick, who was a living ball of energy, and Tim, who was impressively terrible at taking care of his own health, Jason was fairly self-sufficient, easily entertained by the library or even tea with Alfred.

“Tim, come here,” Bruce said, gesturing to the small boy. He took a moment to appreciate how much Tim had grown in just four years, not just in height or strength, but in confidence. The boy before him stepped forward hesitantly, as if worried that his mere presence was an annoyance.

Dick seemed to sense what Bruce was planning and climbed to sit on the top of the chair, his feet planted on either one of Bruce’s shoulders, then gestured for Tim to pop up onto the arm he’d vacated a moment ago. The third Robin did, sitting down gingerly. Bruce curled an arm around his waist to make sure he didn’t fall, and then held in his surprise as Tim leaned into the touch.

“I’ll walk you through all the upgrades,” Bruce said, and watched as the boy’s eyes lit up with eagerness. “You helped with the design for most of this.”

“Really?” he asked excitedly, then froze, peeking up at Dick. “What about you? I know you find all this tech stuff boring.”

“It is so weird that you know that,” he murmured to himself, then flashed a grin. “It’s cool. Do your nerd talk with B. I’m going to go use the trapeze in a minute anyways.”

“Oh. Do you think...could I join you?”

Bruce wished he could see Dick’s face from this angle, but all he could see were his feet, which pressed in roughly to Bruce’s shoulders. Based on that, he could imagine the crease that would form between his brows, the downward tilt of his lips.

“You...know how to use the trapeze?”

“Well, yeah. You taught every Robin. You told me that a Robin should know how to fly.”

Dick was silent for a moment. Then he let out a long exhale. “Sure, Timmy. You can join me.”

“Awesome.”

And that was that. Tim turned back to the computers and listened as Bruce launched into an explanation of the changes. Dick stayed perched on top of the chair for a few more minutes, feet tapping, before he disappeared. Half an hour later, he returned with two leotards, one for himself and one for Tim. Bruce watched the boys change out, then do stretches, both going through the same routine and laughing when they realized what they were doing. He hung back, not wanting to interrupt their bonding time, but there was a warm feeling under his skin. It took him a moment to realize it was contentment. Huh.

He knew it was pride, though, when he watched the two of them fly through the air together, dancing and playing as they soared.

* * *

“I thought I’d find you here,” Bruce said, taking a seat on the couch opposite Jason. “You disappeared after lunch.”

The boy shrugged, closing his book and setting it next to him. “Wanted to read my book.”

Bruce nodded, taking a moment to grin at the odd position Jason had contorted himself into to get comfortable while he read. The sun was starting to sink, casting the library in shades of gold. Sitting here with him, Bruce felt like time had reversed and that they were in the past, when the biggest problem in his life had been fighting with Dick about going to college.

But he knew that that wasn’t the case.

“I know we didn’t really get a chance to talk yet—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. “I get it. Dick needed you, so you took care of him.”

“Jaylad, it’s not a competition,” he said gently, leaning forward. The words bubbled up from a part of him he’d locked off, words that he should have spoken years ago, but he had a second chance to say now. “I know that as far as you remember, Dick and I don’t get along, and more often than I’d like to admit you got dragged into the middle. And I know that sometimes I made you feel like I cared about Dick more than you, and for that I can never apologize enough. But for me, we’ve worked out our differences, and Dick doesn’t even know why you’re avoiding him. He doesn’t know you.”

Jason pulled up his legs to hug them to his chest. “I know.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “This isn’t coming out right. You know I’m bad with words. But what I’m trying to say, Jason, is that I stayed with Dick last night because he was scared and he asked me to stay.”

“What was he scared about?” the boy asked, straightening up with a look of disbelief.

Bruce bit back a smile. “I know that you think of him as your fearless big brother, but that’s not the Dick who’s here. This Dick is young and confused. He doesn’t know any of you and he’s adjusting to the idea that he’s not going to be my only son, or the only Robin. You know how badly he takes that.”

Jason snorted in agreement, a pensive look overtaking his face.

“But I’m not here to talk about Dick. I want to know if you’re okay.”

His son fell silent, but Bruce was prepared to wait him out. He knew that like him, Jason liked to keep his emotions bottled up, and would rather release his tension and fear and anxiety through fighting, through movement, than with words. It was kind of ironic considering that he loved reading and literature so much.

“I don’t know,” Jason admitted after a minute, digging his chin into his knee. “I don’t know how to feel about any of this. I don’t remember being older, being Red Hood or whatever you told me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about the fact that I’m going to die, or that I did die or however this magic shit works. What’s bothering me is that my big brother doesn’t even remember me and my room looks _exactly_ the same.”

Bruce leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and met his son’s beautiful blue eyes, clear of any green taint. “Why is your room bothering you?”

“Because if it really is five years in the future, why isn’t my room different? I mean, I get that I died, but I come back. Didn’t I come home? Or is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I...I don’t want to burden you with all of my many mistakes, Jaylad. I haven’t told you boys everything because I hate that you had to go through it once, much less a second time.”

“Just tell me. It can’t be worse than me dying, right?” He laughed, but it sounded hollow. Bruce couldn’t even muster up a grin.

The man sighed. “You never come home, after...You’re still in Gotham, and our relationship is...getting better, I think, but you never moved back home. Alfred still keeps your room in shape, but…”

Bruce fell silent, his mind whirling with all the mistakes, all the fights and hurt between him and Jason. So much history and so pain. Only the feel of a small hand on his knee jolted him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“That sucks,” Jason said simply, and, miraculously, Bruce found himself grinning.

“Yes. It does.”

“But I guess—” the boy huffed, pushing his hair out of his face, “I guess that makes sense.”

“What?”

“The way you’ve been looking at me. Almost...scared? I don’t know exactly, you’re hard to read. I thought it was just cuz of the dying thing, but it makes sense that it’s more than just that.”

“I’m sorry, Jay.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. Not to me, anyways. Maybe tell older me when he’s back. It’ll probably mean more to him. Me? God, this is confusing.”

“I will,” Bruce promised, and he meant it with every fiber of his being. He’d let Jason down so many times; it would be the least he could do this one thing.

“Cool. Um, do you want to read with me?” Jason asked, a little of his shyness creeping back in now.

Bruce moved to sit next to his son, picking up his book. “What are we reading?”

* * *

“This is nonnegotiable,” Batman said, arms crossed and cowl stern.

“I’m not doing it!” Dick declared, perched on top of the Batcomputer.

“Then you’re not patrolling.”

“That’s not fair!”

“I’m Batman. I decide what’s fair.”

“This is ridiculous!”

“Dickie, _you’re_ the one being ridiculous,” Jason said, spinning idly in the chair before the computer. “Just put on some goddamn pants. I wish Bruce would have given me that option when I inherited your underwear.”

“Leotard!” Dick insisted. “Which helps with my flips. Pants will totally mess up my balance!”

Batman held in a sigh. He had anticipated some resistance with the suggestion of deviation from Dick’s self-chosen uniform, but he hadn’t expected it to devolve into a five minute argument that culminated in Dick climbing the monitor and refusing to descend. Maybe he didn’t miss having thirteen year olds as much as he thought.

“Chum, the streets are much more dangerous than you remember,” Batman said, trying to appeal to some modicum of reason within his son. “The pants are for your safety, and per your instructions, they’re as light and flexible as can be while still being safe.”

“I can handle myself, and I know that you believe that or else you wouldn’t let me come with you!”

Which was...true. But also irrelevant.

“The Robin costume has changed,” Tim jumped in suddenly, blushing when all eyes turned to him. He tugged on his Brentwood sweater. “I mean, the costume has had pants for...about four years now? So if you show up in your costume, people will notice, and they’ll think you’re not the real Robin. To be the most effective, you should wear the pants.”

And to Bruce’s surprise and relief, Dick actually listened to Tim. After a moment, he flipped off the monitor, startling Jason, who swore and fell out of his chair. The oldest took no notice, instead prancing right towards Bruce. He came to a stop less than a foot away, craning his neck to make eye contact.

“Fine. I’ll wear pants. But I’m still lodging a formal complaint.”

“Message received. Go change.”

Dick headed off to the changing rooms, accepting the bulletproof pants from Alfred on the way. Bruce looked over at his two other children.

“You’re both welcome to come too, if you want.”

Tim shook his head. “I’d rather stay on comms. I’m not caught up on files, so I’d be at a disadvantage.”

“What he said. Also, it would be weird if you had more than one Robin with you anyways,” Jason chimed in. “Which reminds me: where’s Damian? Isn’t he Robin?”

“Master Damian is with young Master Kent. I believe they are patrolling in Metropolis tonight,” Alfred answered, sorting the medical supplies. Bruce knew him well enough to know that he was hiding his nerves behind action.

“Damian is patrolling with Superman?”

“No, Superboy,” Bruce corrected.

Tim just looked even more confused. “Why would he be with Conner?”

“No, the new Superboy, Jon.”

“The future sounds weird.”

He made an agreeing noise, then noticed that Alfred was still fretting over the supply cabinets. He walked across the floor, dropping a hand onto Alfred’s shoulder and lowering his voice as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Master Bruce. I suppose I’m simply worried about the lad.”

“Dick?”

“Yes, sir. As much as I confess to enjoy seeing them all so young again, it also reminds me of how small they were. I can’t help but worry about him, even though I know the lad can handle himself quite well, even at this decreased age.”

Bruce squeezed his shoulder. “I know the feeling. But I won’t let anything happen to him.”

“As I said: it’s nothing.”

“I can already feel these slowing me down!” Dick complained as he walked back into the room, kicking up into a handstand as if to demonstrate his point.

“You seem fine to me,” Bruce said dryly, snapping into work mode as he headed for the car. “Come on. We have places to be.”

Dick cheered as he parkoured his way over to the vehicle, landing perfectly in the passenger’s seat. Bruce had missed that boundless optimism and excitement. He was actually looking forward to this patrol, even though Dick was younger and smaller and less skilled and less experienced, and less everything, really, because he knew that he’d be hearing his son chatter in his ear all night, and that meant more than he could even explain.


	3. Second Day

“I trust nothing went wrong on patrol last night?” Damian asked, not pausing in his katana training. Despite the early hour, there were already three disassembled dummies on the floor around him.

“Of course. How is Superboy?”

“Reckless. I now understand all of your frustrations working with the Justice League, Father. These meta and alien heroes rely far too much on their abilities and ignore planning and rational thought,” he ranted, decapitating his fourth dummy.

Despite his words, Bruce could hear the undertone of fondness in his son’s voice. He would die before admitting it, but Damian loved working with Jon and treasured their partnership. Bruce didn’t call him out on it, though. If he did that, then he would have to go tell Clark how much he enjoyed their partnership as well to set a good example, and he did not want to do that.

“Did you send in your report yet?”

Damian executed a perfect flip, and Bruce recognized Dick’s flair in it. “Of course. I did it before turning in last night.”

He nodded, moving over to the computer to check out the report. He would have done it last night, except that he had been exhausted after wrangling three boys into bed. He’d fallen asleep right after, but now he was up early to catch up on files before Alfred summoned them to breakfast.

As Bruce slid into his chair, an alarm rang through the cave and the two Waynes stilled. The monitor came to life, showing footage of which alarms had been tripped and the camera footage from the front door.

“Damn speedster,” Damian muttered, huffing and returning to his workout.

Bruce agreed with the sentiment, but refrained from vocalizing it. Wally West was standing on his doorstep, letting Donna Troy out of his arms. Somehow they must have found out about Dick’s magical mishap and come running. He growled lowly, tapping his hand on the counter, annoyance growing. He’d been hoping to get through these few days without letting anyone outside of the family (except for Zatanna) know about the problem. He’d even made Damian promise not to tell Jon and had cut Barbara and Cassandra from the loop. Somehow, though, the two Titans had heard.

He pressed a button and said, “Alfred?”

 _“Yes, Master Bruce?”_ His response came instantly.

“We have visitors. Please see them in, but keep the boys away. I want to greet them myself.”

_“Very well, sir. I would suggest you hurry, though. The young masters will be difficult to hold back.”_

He was well aware of that, so as soon as he cut the connection he got to his feet, heading towards the stairs. “Damian, go make sure your brothers don’t interrupt.”

“Are you turning West and Troy away?”

“Just go.”

Damian looked displeased, but he set his katana down and bounded up the stairs. Bruce followed, slipping out of his study and heading down to the foyer, where a dark-haired woman and redheaded man were waiting with Alfred.

“Ah, Master Bruce. Miss Troy and Mr. West have come to see Master Dick.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” The dismissal was clear, and the old butler vacated the room. Bruce turned to the two young adults. “I don’t appreciate the intrusion into my home, Mr. West.”

“Sorry, but Dick hasn’t answered either of our calls and texts for two days. Last I heard from him, he was in Gotham, so we’re just here to make sure that he’s okay,” Wally explained, not looking very apologetic. Bruce had always been impressed that his son had found friends that were just as stubborn as him.

“Is he here?” Donna asked bluntly.

So maybe they hadn’t heard what happened. It didn’t matter much, since they were here anyways and wouldn’t leave without proof that Dick was okay. Bruce resigned himself to losing a quiet day with his sons.

“He is. There has been an incident.”

“Is he okay?!”

“He is,” Bruce said quickly, before Wally dashed past him to track down Dick himself. “But before you see him I’d like to appraise you of the situation.”

Donna grabbed Wally’s arm, stilling the anxious speedster, and nodded at Bruce. “Of course.”

“Robin and I encountered a magical artifact on patrol two nights ago. Unfortunately, its effects were triggered, affecting Dick, Jason, and Tim. They are all now thirteen years old again, and have the memory of that age.”

Wally blinked once. Twice. Then blurted out, “What?!”

“Wally!” Donna hissed.

“Dick is thirteen? And he doesn’t remember anything? Is he okay? Is this permanent? What areyoudoingtofixthisandcanwehelp—”

_“Wally.”_

The speedster cut off, staggering back with a dazed expression. Donna checked on him for a moment and then turned back to Bruce with a calm smile.

“Ignore him. Is this permanent, though?”

“No. I’ve already consulted Zatanna. She believes the effects will wear off by tomorrow or the day after. All we can do is wait.”

“Well, that’s...good, I guess. Wow, our lives are weird if I just said that and meant it.” She shook out her hair. “Can we see him? Or would that not be a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?” Wally asked. “I mean, we knew him when he was thirteen. We would’ve just started the Titans.”

The two shared a fond look at the mention of their first team, underscored by the bond shared between all members that was just as strong now as it was nearly a decade ago.

Bruce frowned. “It might be upsetting for him to see you two so much older than him.”

Donna looked hesitant, but Wally was unswayed. “Please, I need to see him,” the speedster begged. “He’s my best friend, and I’ll probably never get a chance to see him this young again.”

“Please,” Donna added.

He was tempted to turn them away, to keep his boy to himself for what little time he had him...But he knew that he wasn’t the only one who cared about Dick. And really, it wasn’t even his choice to make.

“I’ll ask him what he wants,” Bruce decided. “You’ll agree to whatever he decides.”

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

He nodded, instructed them to wait, and then set off down the hall. He ducked into the dining room, where his boys were all seated, tearing into plates of egg, sausage, and fresh fruit. Tim was enthusiastically showing Jason the newest Nintendo 3DS, explaining all of it’s inner workings. Jason looked both intrigued and lost by the technical conversation. Dick was bouncing in his seat, gesturing broadly with a fork as he recounted patrol last night to Damian, who Bruce could tell was content, even as he made snarky comments on Dick’s tale.

“Bruce!” Dick chirped, the first to spot him, as always. Jason and Tim both jumped when they noticed him behind them.

“Every damn time,” Jason murmured.

“Right? Even when he’s not in costume he’s scary,” Tim whispered back.

“Morning, boys,” Bruce said, reaching for the mug of coffee Alfred had ready for him. He was going to need some energy if Wally West was going to be around all day.

“Who’s at the door? Alfred wouldn’t tell us,” Dick pouted.

Alfred was entirely unperturbed as he said, “That fork is a utensil, not a flag. Do stop waving it around.” Jason snickered, but Dick set down the fork sheepishly.

“Wally West and Donna Troy are here to see you, Dick,” Bruce explained, watching as a mixture of surprise and excitement and confusion swirled across the boy’s face. “They would like to see you, but it’s up to you, chum.”

“Did you tell them—”

“Yes. I filled them in on the situation.”

Dick nodded. “Okay. I wanna see them. But...alone, please?”

Bruce grimaced, but nodded. It was a reasonable request, and he couldn’t think of a reason to turn him down, despite how reluctant he was to let Dick out of his sight. It wasn’t like Wally and Donna posed any danger to Dick. After all, he was their best friend. Bruce completely understood why they didn’t want to give up the chance to see him like this.

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks, B!” Dick sprung out of his chair, racing down the hall. Bruce forced himself to sit down and not go to the Batcave to spy on his son through the surveillance.

“I still think you should have sent them off,” Damian murmured, cutting up his sausage.

“They’ll be fine.”

The former assassin gave him a look that showed just how believable that statement was. Bruce took a long sip of his coffee.

* * *

“Oh my god, you’re so tiny,” Wally said, eyes bugging out of his head.

Dick raised his chin. “Bet I could still kick your ass.”

Donna laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Yep, this is Dick, alright. Gotta say, Boy Wonder, this is a weird mess even for you.”

“So everyone’s telling me.”

“You really don’t remember anything?” Wally asked as the trio moved towards the door naturally, stepping out onto the expansive lawns of Wayne Manor. Rare Gotham sunlight trickled down on them between the clouds.

“Nope. You have no idea how freaky it is to see you guys so much older than me.”

“I missed your accent,” Donna said with a soft smile.

“Man, I kind of started forgetting what it sounded like,” Wally admitted.

“What? Do I lose it or something?”

Without words, they all collapsed onto a grassy stretch a bit away from the Manor. Wally laid down, a tangle of long limbs, while Donna and Dick both folded into neat crisscrossed positions. Despite the fact that his friends were so much older and taller and, well, more _everything,_ they were still his friends, and he felt just as comfortable with them now as he did in his correct time.

“You didn’t _lose_ it exactly,” she explained, smoothing out her dark skirt. “But you started getting annoyed with all the comments people made on it and how identifiable it is when you were seventeen. So you started faking a Gotham accent, and now you use it all the time without having to think about it. When you’re tired or in pain, though, you slip back into your accent.”

“Or when you’re picking up ladies,” Wally added with a smirk. “Girls go crazy for your fancy European accent.”

He flushed a little and the two of them laughed at him. Donna reached over to ruffle his hair. “I don’t think I’ve seen you blush since I caught you with Starfire in the closet at Titans Tower.”

“Who’s Starfire?”

His friends traded a look, and then Wally said, “Yeah, I’m not going near that one with a ten foot pole.”

“She’s a Titan,” Donna explained. “And your ex-fiancee.”

_“Fiancee?”_

Wally raised an eyebrow. “How much did Bruce tell you, exactly.”

“Not a lot. Just that I become Nightwing and move to Bludhaven? Oh, also that I apparently become Batman and make Damian my Robin for a bit.”

“Whew, boy. Okay, I don’t even know where to start.”

Dick tucked one arm up against his chest, resting his chin on his knee. “Can I ask questions then?”

Wally laughed. “Yeah, that might be easier.”

“Within reason,” Donna tacked on.

The boy nodded. “Fine, that’s fair.”

Then he launched into an intense interrogation of his friends. He grilled them on everything from the future of the Titans, to his personal life, to _their_ lives. Then he asked about Roy and Garth. The three of them stayed on the lawn for hours as Donna and Wally regaled their now-young friend with stories about them and all their adventures and lives.

And if there was an occasional face watching them from the windows of the stately manor, well, it didn’t bother the three friends.

* * *

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to go on patrol?” Dick needled, rocking on his toes.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Am I sure that I would rather stay here and play with tech years ahead of my time instead of running across rooftops in tights to possibly beat up some muggers? Yeah, I’m sure.”

Dick groaned, but recovered quickly, swinging towards Jay, who’d draped himself over the Batcomputer’s control panel to read _Pride and Prejudice._ “Jay! Don’t you want to come?”

“Told you last night, Goldie, Batman only needs one Robin. I’m good here hanging out with Timmers. Besides, isn’t Damian going tonight?”

“Yeah, but it’d be more fun if we all went.”

“No, it’d be a shitshow. We aren’t your Titan friends, we’re not going to follow orders well. We’ll end up tripping over each other.”

“Jaylad has a point, chum,” Bruce chimed in, adjusting his utility belt.

Dick crossed his arms. “Not you too!”

“Sorry, Dick. Your brothers are right, though. The three of you haven’t trained as a team yet, and I wouldn’t trust any of you to go off on your own right now because you’re unaccustomed to the current situation in Gotham.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but they could all tell that he was giving in. Jason shook his head and then returned to his book as Tim played with the Batcomputer, working around the boy sprawled over half the controls. The whole family was down in the cave, and had been since Donna and Wally left after dinner. For the past hour, Dick had been goading his brothers to swing on the trapeze with him. Tim and Jason had both given in, but Damian had stubbornly stayed on the ground.

“What’s on the route tonight, boss?” Dick asked, dipping forward into a handstand. Damian snorted at his excessive performance.

“Bowery. There have been a rash of break-ins in the area, but no one has been caught yet.”

“GCPD?”

Bruce shook his head, pulling up a map of the neighborhood with red xs to denote the break-in sites. “They’ve been informed, but the break-ins have been random, so it’s a low priority for them. But I believe there may be a more coordinated plan to these robberies than the GCPD thinks. I believe I’ve located where their next target will be. We’ll have to stakeout the site.”

“Cool. What are we waiting for, then?” Dick flipped himself upright.

“I’ve never seen you eager for a stakeout before,” he noted dryly.

“Hey, I like stakeouts!”

“Really.”

“Yes!”

“Dick, you’ve ditched me on three different stakeouts to get ice cream.”

The boy tilted his head. “Only three times?”

“That I remember by the time you’re thirteen. If you would like me to count all the times you’ve done that up to the present, the number is _much_ higher.”

Tim and Jason looked at each other, then looked away, each with their lips pressed tightly together to hold in their laughter. Damian, however, looked annoyed.

“Father, can we go already?”

Bruce nodded, vacating his seat and pulling down his cowl. “Yes. I want to be in position before they show up.”

The fourth Robin nodded his approval, sheathing a few batarangs and following his father down to the vehicles. Batman slipped into the Batmobile and Damian headed for the passenger seat. He paused before slipping in, though, looking back at Dick, who was ambling over, walking on a rail like it was a balance beam.

“You can go with Batman,” Dick said, flipping off the rail and landing on his feet, arms extended for balance.

“And how do you plan on getting into Gotham, then?” Damian asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll take a bike.”

Dick gestured over at the small fleet of motorcycles parked nearby. There were pure black bikes with bat emblems on them, a red one emblazoned with an _R,_ and a black one bisected with a stripe of blue. There were also three completely normal motorcycles for undercover work or personal use. Damian surveyed the bikes, looked back at the tiny Grayson, and frowned.

“No.”

“Uh, excuse me?”

“ _I_ will ride the motorcycle while you ride with Father.”

Dick put his hands on his hips. “What, you think I can’t handle a motorcycle?”

“Given your current stature, yes.”

Batman got out of the vehicle and stared at his two partners, who were facing off. “Boys. Is there a reason we’re getting delayed?”

“Grayson is insisting on taking a motorcycle, Father.”

“B, you know I can ride a bike! Damian is being stupid! I’ve been riding a motorcycle since I was six!”

“Forgive me if I don’t think circus acts qualify you to ride through Gotham’s streets, which have changed, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Not _that_ much,” Dick scoffed, then turned towards Bruce. “This is dumb. Can I take the bike or not?”

“You’re _both_ going to take a bike,” Bruce growled, ignoring Damian’s scowl. “Dick, find a helmet that fits. Damian, stick close, make sure he doesn’t get lost. _Now.”_

“Thanks, B!” Dick chirped, heading towards the gear rack, where various helmets and riding gear were neatly stored.

Damian glowered at his father, then stalked away, to one of the black, bat themed bikes. Bruce waited until he saw them both don their helmets, Dick popping onto the red Robin bike, before he slipped back into the Batmobile and peeled out of the cave.

Hopefully his sons would finish their fight on the ride over. He didn’t want to listen to them squabble throughout the whole stakeout.

Jason shook his head as the two boys zipped out of the cave. “Dickie’s going to push Damian off a roof.”

Tim didn’t disagree.


	4. Third Day

“Alfie, can we go play outside today?” Dick asked. He’d finished his breakfast first and was now doing laps around the dining table in a handstand.

“Sorry, chum. We have other plans today,” Bruce answered, perusing the newspaper as he sipped his coffee.

“What plans?”

Alfred caught Dick’s legs right before he vaulted onto the table and righted the boy, who grinned at him sheepishly. “Young master, it is not polite to do handstands during breakfast time. Do sit down properly.”

“Sorry, Alf.”

Jason snickered as Dick scampered back to his seat, chastised. Alfred nodded his satisfaction and slipped a mug of hot chocolate in front of the first Robin, who instantly perked up. Tim was already enjoying hot chocolate as well, mug in one hand and tablet in the other, like a miniature Bruce. Damian was slumped across from Tim, stroking his cat on his lap.

“I have tickets to the Knights game today,” Bruce said nonchalantly, but both Dick and Jason had visible reactions to the announcement.

“Really?! B, that is so cool!”

“Who are they playing? How are the Knights doing this season?”

Damian gave them a disdainful look. “Tt. A football game? Childish.”

“Have you ever been to a football game? Or any sports match?” Bruce asked his son.

“...No.”

“Well, then you’re going. If you hate it, I won’t bring you to another.” Damian scowled, but Bruce’s words left no room for further argument.

Tim set his tablet down, tilting his head at Damian. “Dick never brought you to a Knights game?”

Dick perked up at the mention of his name. It was clear that Tim was talking about his Dick, though, an older Dick.

“Why would Richard have brought me to a football game? In case you’d forgotten, Drake, we were busy with important matters.”

Tim shrugged. “Dick brought me to a few games. He loved taking me. I just thought that he would have done the same with you.”

Damian’s expression darkened at the implication that Dick and Tim had done something that he hadn’t done with the first Robin. Even though Tim and Damian had mostly made amends, Damian still got jealous about other people’s relationships with his big brother and reacted viciously to any perceived threats to his own relationship.

“I do love football,” Dick confessed and Damian instantly switched from murderous to simply annoyed.

“Fine. I’ll go to this game,” the current Robin conceded, taking out his phone and proceeding to ignore his family. Tim and Dick shared a triumphant look at their trick working.

Bruce couldn’t believe how manipulative all his kids were already at thirteen. Surely that can’t all have been his influence.

* * *

“That was so awesome!” Dick exclaimed, bouncing in his seat.

“I still don’t get football,” Tim murmured, curling up around his tablet. The limo was spacious, but not quite spacious enough that he could ignore his siblings, who were still buzzing from the excitement of the last play of the game.

“I can’t believe our seats were so good,” Jason said. “I mean, Bruce, you’re not exactly low profile. How’re you going to explain bringing four kids to a football game?”

The billionaire shrugged, wrapping an arm around Jason’s shoulders and dragging him a little closer. The boy pretended to fight, but his brothers caught the small smile on his face when he gave in. “I’ll just say that the three of you are Damian’s friends and I was treating you to the game. It won’t be a problem.”

Dick and Jason grinned, soaking in the luxury of having money that could explain away any problems. Tim and Damian, who had both been raised in the upper crust, were less impressed. Although Damian’s expression could more likely be attributed to having to endure a football game. Still, they’d all gone to the game and stayed until the Knight’s triumphant victory. Now they were on the way home for dinner, packed into the limo as Alfred drove through the streets of Gotham.

“Hey, Dami, did you like the game?” Dick asked, eyes bright as he looked at his brother.

“My name is _Damian_. I won’t respond to such an undignified simplification of my name.”

“Anyone tell you that you talk like an eighty year old college professor who everyone hates?” Jason mused. Bruce retaliated by tugging Jason out of Damian’s eyesight before either could escalate.

“Okay, fine. _Damian_ , did you like the game?” Dick corrected, over exaggerating his pronunciation.

“It was tolerable. I agree with Drake’s assessment that the rules seemed nonsensical, and I pity the fools who devote their lives to the sport, but I suppose there is an idiotic charm to it.”

The acrobat squinted at him. “I literally can’t tell if you liked it or not.”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter because I will never be repeating this experience.”

“Never?”

“Never. I can think of literally hundreds of ways that my time could be better spent. I gave this diversion the benefit of the doubt, but that was all I agreed to.”

Dick kicked his legs and began to grin. “Bet I can drag you back to a game sometime.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Assuming that you remember this magical mishap, that is.”

 _“Damian,”_ Bruce growled, but it was too late.

Dick, Tim, and Jason had all sobered up like they’d been doused with a bucket of water. The magnetic energy that had been thrumming off them since the game vanished, replaced with an eerie quiet. Even Dick wasn’t fidgeting. A brief flash of regret graced Damian’s face before it vanished again behind an indifferent mask. Bruce sighed as he felt the limo come to a stop.

“We don’t know what will happen when this wears off,” Bruce said, rubbing Jason’s arm. It would do no good to give them false reassurance. They were all too smart to believe anything but the truth. “You may remember these few days, you may not. I promise, though, you will all be okay.”

Dick and Tim looked slightly bolstered by the confidence in Bruce’s tone, but Jason remained gloomy. There wasn’t time for any more conversation though, because Alfred came and opened the door. Jason was quick to slip out, followed closely by Tim, who raced after his brother. Bruce sighed and followed suit. Alfred raised an eyebrow at him.

“Did something occur, Master Bruce?”

“Of a sort.”

“Ah. Well, dinner will be ready in five. The young sirs will be expected to be there.”

“Yes, Alfred.”

* * *

_“Booored,”_ Dick groaned, flopping onto the couch dramatically.

“Tt. Father requested to have a few minutes in the Cave allow and you’re already whining?”

The acrobat adjusted himself to be upside, feet over the top and head hanging below the cushions. “All the fun stuff is down in the Cave. I was going to work out on the trapeze before patrol tonight.”

“What’s Bruce doing, anyways?” Tim asked, sitting down next to Dick as if there was nothing abnormal about his brother’s position.

Damian waved a hand dismissively. “Zatanna has come to collect the artifact that caused this whole mess.”

“Didn’t you cause this by touching the strange magical artifact?” Jason challenged, peeking up from his book. “I mean, it’s Robin 101 not to touch any strange magical artifacts.”

“Shut up, Todd.”

“Guys,” Dick moaned.

Jason and Damian traded a glare, then resolutely turned away from each other regardless. Silence overcame the sitting room where Bruce had instructed them to stay until he returned. He hadn’t wanted to deal with Zatanna fawning over how cute his boys were; he intended to see the magician in and out as quickly and painlessly as possible.

“We could play a game?” Tim suggested, shoulders rising a bit, like he was preparing to have his suggestion shot down.

Dick’s reaction was the exact opposite. He allowed his legs to fall forward, past his head, landing on the floor in a slow flip, grinning at his brother. “Yeah! Let’s play something!”

“Like what?” Jason asked with a skeptical expression. “I think playing Clue or something would end up with us murdering each other.”

The first Robin took that into consideration, his gaze drifting over the room, as if searching for a solution. His eyes brightened as they landed on the huge TV, and more importantly, the video games console sitting under it.

“Video games!” Dick declared.

“I don’t even recognize that console,” Jason said. Despite his words, he shut his book and swung his feet to the floor, padding over to get a better look. Tim and Dick followed suit.

“I recognize it,” Tim said, crouching down to look at the array of games shelved below it. “I don’t know, like, any of these games though.”

“I’m sure we can figure it out,” Dick reasoned. “Just find one that’s multiplayer.”

He did as instructed, pulling out the cases to check the descriptions. Jason set to work gathering three sets of controllers, all reservations gone. A kind of boyish energy was emanating from them as they set to work, like they were three boys having a sleepover at a friend’s house instead of vigilante children magically de-aged. Like they were allowing themselves to relax, to drop an pretense they upheld about being smart, capable, and level headed heroes, and were able to act their age.

“Are you going to play with us, Damian?” Dick asked, bouncing over to the fourth Robin.

“Why should I do that?”

“Because it’ll be fun.”

“That’s what you said about the football game. I think I’ve indulged your hobbies enough today, Grayson.”

“Come on, we’re all playing.” Damian remained unmoved. Dick started to grow annoyed, then grinned as a new strategy occurred to him. “B said that Jay, Tim, and I all don’t live here anymore.”

“Yes, although it certainly doesn’t feel that way sometimes, what with you all coming in and out on a whim.”

“Which means that these games, which look very current, can’t possibly be any of ours,” Dick continued and Damian narrowed his eyes as he realized that this line of conversation wasn’t entirely innocent. “So they must be yours. Right?”

“Some.”

The acrobat grinned at the reluctant admission. “Cool! So you _do_ like video games, so there’s no reason for you not to play with us. And, you’d have the advantage having played before when none of us have, so a victory is in your favor.”

“I know what you’re doing, Grayson,” he warned him, but the first Robin just blinked his big, blue eyes in an innocent manner. His resolve cracked. “Fine. If you’re going to be so insistent about it, I suppose there is no reason to refuse. Drake, have you found a game yet?”

“I’ve found two multiplayers that look good. And preferences?”

Dick raced over to the two games, examining them. “This one looks good. _Swordwalkers?”_

Damian stiffened, but none of the others noticed. Tim nodded, agreeing to Dick’s selection, and Jason shrugged. He doled out the controllers. Dick was examining the case of the game, then opened it. A scrap of paper fell out and he picked it up, eyes scanning the words written in a familiar hand. Damian twitched, as if to rip away the fragment, but held still.

“What is that?” Tim asked, noticing Dick’s preoccupation.

“A note.”

“What’s it say?”

His eyes flicked up to Damian, asking for permission. Damian nodded like it pained him.

 _“‘Happy birthday, lil D! We’ve been talking about this game for weeks now, so I thought I’d surprise you. You’ve been bugging me about coming by the Manor more, so here’s some bait you can use against me. I know you’ll kick my butt at it. Anyways, enjoy, kiddo,’”_ Dick read aloud. “It’s signed by _Big Bro.”_

Damian met his questioning gaze. “Yes, that was a birthday gift from you, older you, a few months ago.”

“Do you mind if we play it, or should we pick another game?”

“It’s...fine. We may play that one.” Damian picked up his controller and settled into the couch as Dick set up the game. “Be warned though, Grayson: You’ve yet to beat me at this game.”

They all crammed onto the couch, each claiming it had the best view of the TV, and began their game. When Bruce came upstairs a few minutes later, interrupting their second round, they all yelled at him to get out of the way and a bewildered Batman fled into the hallway, away from the deeply invested gaggle of teens, only to find Alfred waiting for him.

“The young masters have been playing video games.”

“Yeah, I see that now,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “I think this is the first time they’ve chosen to beat each other up virtually rather than physically.”

“Indeed. Which is why I’ve already taken the liberty of snapping a few pictures to prove that this day existed.”

“That’s why you’re the best, Alfred.” Bruce paused to listen to the mixture of whooping and foul language pouring out of the living room into the hall and sighed. “They’re going to be at this for a while, aren’t they?”

“Indubitably, Master Bruce.”

* * *

“You’re back already?” Tim asked in surprise as Bruce and Dick climbed out of the Batmobile. “It’s only one am.”

“That’s what I said!” Dick complained. “B made me.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Only a few muggers. It was actually a fairly slow night.”

Tim tilted his head, his confusion only growing. “Bruce? What happened?”

The man flicked back his cowl and headed over to the Batcomputer. The two Robins traded a look of shared exasperation and then hurried after him. Dick vaulted over a rail to expedite his trip. He planted himself atop the monitor so that Bruce couldn’t ignore him. Tim joined him a moment later with a little less finesse.

“Boys, I need to write tonight’s report,” he reminded them.

“Nope. That can wait until you tell us why you cut patrol short,” Dick said, crossing his arms. Tim moved to mimic his posture, then stopped when he tilted precariously atop the monitor, choosing to keep his grip instead.

“Isn’t this a little childish?”

“Aren’t I a child right now?”

“Not for much longer,” the Dark Knight murmured.

Realization dawned on Dick’s face. “Oh. Zatanna said the spell would wear off sometime today or tomorrow. You didn’t want it to happen on patrol.”

“That makes sense,” Tim admitted, then glared at Bruce. “You could have just told us that!”

He looked unremorseful. “The effects of the spell could wear off at any time. It was a risk even bringing up along on patrol tonight, chum, I wasn’t going to prolong the chance of the shift happening during patrol. We still don’t know how much you will all remember.”

The two Robins frowned at the reminder. They knew it was unavoidable, but they didn’t like the idea of not remembering the last few days. However, there wasn’t anything any of them could do about that, so they held in their anxieties. Bruce could read it plain on their faces anyways.

“I think it’s time that you two headed to bed.”

It was a testament to their internal turmoil that they didn’t bother to argue. They both clambered down from the monitor.

“I’ll go change,” Dick murmured, heading off.

Tim gave Bruce a quick hug, blushing by the time he pulled away (too soon). Bruce reached out and stroked his head once, then dropped a kiss to his forehead, ignoring Tim’s small squeak.

“Good night, Tim.”

“Night, Bruce.”

The teen fled after that, flustered by the small amount of affection he’d been shown. Normally Bruce would have respected Tim’s boundaries a bit better, telegraphed his moves a bit more, but the threat of losing this young, small, innocent Tim sometime over the night had him just as worried as his boys. He had to show his love, in whatever demonstrative way he could, before he lost him.

Dick returned a few minutes later, wearing a Hudson University shirt that was a few sizes too big and Superman sleep pants. Bruce smiled at his son and the two headed upstairs, a comfortable silence between them that he had trouble finding with anyone else, even his other sons. It was a quiet that came from the uselessness of words; neither needed words to express their loss, their bond, their partnership, and all the other unspoken stuff that they found other ways to express. Like the way Dick absently leaned into Bruce’s side as they rode the elevator up to the Manor, or the way Bruce ran his hand through the dark tangles of his son’s hair. Both understood that they meant _I love you, I’m worried, I’m tired, I love you_ without having to actually say it.

When they reached Dick’s room, which sat right across from Bruce’s, they paused in the hall. Dick looked up, his eyes luminous in the dark. Bruce wasn’t sure who moved first, but a second later he had Dick wrapped tight in his arms, feet dangling off the floor as the acrobat held him around the neck. They stayed like that for a minute, the closest embrace they’d had in years, before they both (reluctantly) let go.

“See you in the morning, chum,” Bruce promised.

“I love you, B.”

Dick didn’t wait for him to stay it back or mumble out some sort of returned sentiment. He just turned and slipped into his bedroom.

Bruce looked at the row of bedrooms and knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. He trudged back downstairs. There were some files he needed to look over for a meeting in the morning.

* * *

When Bruce crept into Dick’s bedroom for the fourth time that night (early morning now), he was relieved to see a twenty-two year old man in the large bed. He left before he woke his oldest son.

Everything was back to the way it should be.


	5. Epilogue

Tim moaned as he woke up. Every muscle felt sore, like he had gone train hopping with Dick, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t. Right? He would remember if he had agreed to do that again…

He pushed himself upright, ignoring his body’s protests, and froze. What the hell was he wearing? It looked like he was wearing Batman patterned pajamas that were about three sizes too small. Baffled, He tugged out of them, ripping seams as he went. He shuffled over to his dresser and to find some clothes his size, but was greeted by more kid clothes.

“What the hell?” he whispered to himself.

It all came back to him in a surge. He’d been staying the night in Titans Tower, then his memories got kind of fuzzy. Not like hit-in-the-head, concussion fuzzy, but like happened-years-ago, childhood memory faded. A memory of being thirteen and meeting all of the Robins when they were that age too.

“No way.”

“You remember, too?”

Tim whirled around, grabbing the nearest pair of pants and hurriedly putting them on. Dick, for his part, was as unabashed by nudity as ever, and threw himself down on Tim’s bed. Dick was already dressed in a faded Hudson University sweater and what looked like Bruce’s pants, and his hair was damp, probably from a shower. None of that, however, was important compared to what he’d just said.

“So I’m not crazy?” Tim asked.

“Nope. I already talked to Alfred to confirm it. Us and Jason really did get like de-aged or whatever the technical term is. Something to do with some magic thing Damian accidentally messed with. Zatanna has it now, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Dick fell silent for a moment, then said, “Are you okay?”

Tim considered. Now that he was focusing on the memories, they were coming back more clearly. He remembered the initial confusion of meeting Damian and a young Dick and most shocking, Jason, who was supposed to be dead. He remembered talking to Jason in the Batcave while Bruce and others went out on patrol and he remembered sitting with Bruce as the man showed him how to work the futuristic Batcomputer. He remembered playing on the trapeze with Dick and having meals across from Damian that didn’t end with someone storming out of the room.

“I think so. I mean, this is weird. Like, really,  _ really  _ weird, but not the weirdest thing ever? Like, not as weird as meeting the future me who was evil Batman. Because that was the weirdest.”

Dick grinned. “Yeah, you’re fine.”

“Are you?”

He didn’t answer for a few moments, picking at Tim’s bedspread instead of looking up. “I am. I never want to repeat that experience, but it’s over, and that’s what matters.”

Tim shimmied into a shirt so Dick wouldn’t see the pity on his face. His brother didn’t want that, but he couldn’t help it. Tim had got to meet and befriend his idols. Dick had been shoved into a body that hadn’t been his for over a decade and lost all memories of his brothers. Yeah, that couldn’t have been great.

“I am glad that I have confirmation that we would’ve been good friends if we were all the same age, though,” Dick added, his grin back in place.

“It’s probably better for Bruce’s blood pressure that we’re not.”

“True.”

“Have you seen B, Jay, or Damian?”

If Tim was a little messed up from the whole experience, Jason was undoubtedly worse. Maybe he was still asleep, though. He could sleep like the dead sometimes. And, of course, Tim was surprised Bruce wasn’t already barging in the room to demand to run a full medical check-up on the two of them.

“Alfred made Damian go to school today, but he knows we’re back to normal. And Alfred told me that Jason was the first to wake up. He and Bruce are holed up in the study. I haven’t seen either of them yet.” A stray twitch of his fingers betrayed his calm tone.

“We’d hear them if they were fighting,” Tim pointed out. The Manor was not soundproofed, so that they could always hear if there was an intruder.

“I’m just worried. Jason doesn’t exactly remember his Robin days fondly. This must have been rough for him, and I know it was rough on B to see him so young.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that. He finished sliding his phone and Titans communicator into his pockets as Dick rolled off the bed. He noticed that his camera was on his dresser, which was definitely not where he’d left it before he’d been de-aged. He pictured it up and turned it on.

“Come on, I bet Alfie has breakfast ready.”

Tim followed Dick out of the room and down the hall. He started flipping through the gallery as they descended the stairs.

“Whatcha got there, Timmy?”

Pictures. Lots of them of lots of little boys in Robin uniforms. Shots of young Jason reading in the library and Dick and Damian sparring and Bruce watching his sons eat breakfast. Some of the shots were from unusual angles, as if taken from a hiding spot or the ceiling. He tilted his camera for Dick to see. His brother leaned over in interest, then laughed.

“So that’s where you kept sneaking off to,” Dick murmured. “These are awesome.”

He flushed a little at the praise. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go through these later and send them to you.”

“I’d love that. I think you should also send some to B, Alfie, and Jay. They’d appreciate them, too.”

“Are you sure Jason’d want them?”

Dick squeezed the back of Tim’s neck. “Yeah, he would. Trust me.”

They reached the dining room. Alfred had already laid out enough for a buffet, but he was absent from the room. They shrugged and sat down to load up their plates. Tim realized he was ravenous. Maybe a magical side effect? He focused on inhaling the fresh waffles instead of trying to puzzle it out.

A few minutes later, Dick abruptly said, “Jay!” Tim’s head whipped up.

Jason was standing in the doorway, clad in his usual leather jacket, a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. His dark hair was lying limp on his head and his face looked a little pale, eyes red-rimmed. He’d been crying, but he looked okay now.

“Hey,” Jay said.

“Are you leaving already?” Tim demanded.

His lips quirked into a pantomime of a smile. “I’ve already broken my solemn vow to never stay here for more than twenty-four hours at a time. And I have some stuff I need to check up on. This little magical adventure came at an inconvenient time.”

“But—” Dick started to say, but fell silent when Jay shook his head.

“It's okay, Big Bird. I’m not mad or running away or something. I actually just talked to B and emotions and shit for once. But I do have my own life to get back to.” He shrugged and straightened up. “Anyways, I promised Alfred I’d come back for dinner on Friday, so I’ll see you soon.” He saluted. “Later, Timmers.”

Jay disappeared down the hall and they heard the front door close a few moments later. Bruce entered the dining room at that moment. He was looking oddly casual in a T-shirt and jeans, but if he had been crying like Jay, Tim couldn’t tell.

“Morning, B,” Dick chirped, standing up and hugging Bruce firmly. The man floundered for a second, then hugged his son back just as tightly. They had a whispered conversation like that, but Tim didn’t try to eavesdrop. There wasn’t much privacy in their family, but he could give them this.

When they pulled apart, Bruce looked over to Tim. He felt kind of awkward. He wasn’t tactile like Dick, and he wasn’t sure what to say to Bruce. What do you say to your dad after being magically de-aged for a few days and then returning to normal? In even superhero circles, that was a strange one.

Bruce solved it for him by squeezing his shoulder, dropping a kiss to the top of his head, and then sitting down at the head of the table. Tim was relieved and happy.

“I’m glad to have you both back,” Bruce said as he began to load his own plate. “And I hate to bring this up so soon, but I’ll need—”

“A report,” Tim finished, sharing an exasperated look with Dick. “We kind of figured. I’ll get it done today, but I really need to call my friends first.”

Bruce grinned, like even he knew that he sounded like a broken record, but then a fragment of doubt crept in. 

“I— love you both. I’m sorry that I don’t say it more,” he said, quiet but sure.

Dick smiled. “We love you, too, Dad.”

Tim smiled too and slid the camera over to Bruce. “Here. Happy early Father’s Day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't originally planning to add this, but I've been thinking about it for a while now, so I decided why not? This is the end of this fic (for real, this time). Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments (especially y'all who asked for another chapter). I really appreciate it! Please go check out my other fics if you haven't already and stay safe!


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